Set in scenery exotic
Q feels queasily quixotic
Sifting through the sequined curtains
Knowing she won't see him lurking
Lamps switch on behind the blood-red shades
Enter the cat and the King of Spades
Strings slice the silence like razorblades
Oh, the masquerade
He lays down his crown and scepter
She purrs like a preying panther
Q won't bear the sound tonight
Staccato stilettos on pulverized pride
They begin their courtly promenade
He flicks her whiskers, Q dons his face
Q rips the curtains and cocks his hate
Oh, the masquerade
Love goes through its own contortions
(Contortions, distortions)
and vengeance is the sweetest poison
(A denouement of Greek proportions)
Q lay dead beside the King
The cat completed their gory ring
So if you're Q, the cat, or the King of Spades
I'd find yourself a safer game to play
Else you might find yourself filleted
On the facade of the masquerade
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